


A Pinch of Sugar and a Dash of Spite

by wilderwestqueen (untakenbeepun)



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, University AU, a coffee shop au written by someone who has never drank a cup of coffee in their life, coffee shop AU, fishlegs and snotlout are the worst baristas, some really disgusting sounding drinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-23 20:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untakenbeepun/pseuds/wilderwestqueen
Summary: “Astrid Hofferson has better things to do than ruin your life.”“Yeah? You could’ve fooled me.”Hiccup Haddock’s just trying to sell coffee and stumble through presentations about Shakespeare, but one persistent rude customer keeps ruining his day. Astrid Hofferson would be the top of her class if it weren’t for one golden boy barista that needs to be taken down a notch.





	1. high maintenance sickly sweet mess

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my tumblr under wilderwestqueen, and on fanfic.net under QueenoftheWilderwest!

The late shift at Bean & Gone was the worst.

The little coffee shop was tucked into one of the streets just off campus, and although it was tiny - barely enough room for the counter and few sets of tables and chairs - it was beloved by all. As part of the university, Bean & Gone always stayed open late for the students that wanted to stay on campus after lecture hours were over, but in Hiccup’s experience, no sane person wanted coffee late at night, unless they were pulling an all-nighter. All the serious deadlines were a good few weeks off yet, so the shift was rarely busy.

Tonight though, business was slower than sludge, and it took all of Hiccup’s effort to keep his head from slumping across the counter as he watched their one elderly patron - an old History professor, who may well have been alive in the dark ages he droned on about in lectures- as he sipped at the cup of coffee he’d been nursing for the past hour and a half.

“It’s got to be cold by now,” Hiccup muttered, his cheek slumped onto his fist. “There’s no way it’s still pleasant to drink.”

His co-worker, Scott Jorgenson, whose laddish tendencies and rotten manners had earned him the nickname Snotlout, was similarly slumped next to him. “Dude’s like eighty. His taste buds are all shrivelled up and dead.”

“Maybe he likes it cold.” This came from the third employee, Philip, who looked up from one of the coffee machines to give them both a blank stare.

Philip was the larger of the three, with a gentle smile but skittish limbs. His hands and legs always seemed to have a bit of a quiver to them, no matter what he did. He’d been christened Fishlegs by bullies in high school, but he’d taken it graciously in his stride, just as Hiccup and Snotlout had with theirs.

“Maybe he likes it cold because it reminds him of his own impending death,” Hiccup said, groaning and finally giving in to the urge to drop his face across the desk, his arms dangling off the counter.

“You’re more morose than usual,” Fishlegs observed. 

“He’s pissing his pants thinking about tomorrow,” said Snotlout.

“Eff off,” Hiccup grumbled, his voice muffled in the counter. 

Hiccup had another mock presentation in the morning, in preparation for his final, graded show. He liked presentations about as much as a splinter in the eyeball.

The evening crawled onwards, Hiccup spending most of his time slumped across the countertop, while Snotlout headed back to mess with their stock. Fishlegs hovered behind Hiccup, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Hiccup…” he began.

Hiccup shifted his head to the side and cast one eye up at him. “I know that voice,” he said. “What do you want?”

“I couldn’t find anyone to check in on Meatlug, and I was wondering if—”

“—You were wondering if you could go home early to check on her,” Hiccup sighed.

Meatlug was Fishlegs’ old, lethargic dog with a lazy eye, a sweet little thing, if a bit ugly by most people’s standards. Fishlegs adored her and doted on her like nothing else. 

“For the last time—” There was a clatter in the back room as Snotlout dropped a bowl and kicked it out of his way, letting it skitter across the tiled floor before he bounded back up to the counter— “Meatlug can look after herself. It’s not fair that you keep leaving us to deal with—” There was loud ping from Snotlout’s phone, and he stopped in his tracks to pull it from his pocket, taking one look at the screen and letting out a long whistle as his eyes bugged out. “Wow, never mind, I need to leave too. You don’t mind, do you, Hiccup?”

Fishlegs gave Snotlout an incredulous stare, before letting out a long sigh and turning back to Hiccup.

“Sorry, Hiccup, it’s just that after her operation, she hasn’t been the same, I just want to make sure that she’s—”

Hiccup tipped his head back and raised his eyes to the heavens. “Just go. Both of you. I’ll lock up tonight.”

Fishlegs had the grace to look apologetic as he gathered his coat and bag from the staff room, but Snotlout barely spared Hiccup a glance, leaping over the counter and heading out the door. Fishlegs hovered between the two.

“Sorry,” he said again, “I’ll—”

“—I’ll see you tomorrow, Fishlegs,” Hiccup said. 

Fishlegs gave him one last grateful smile, before he too headed out the door, leaving Hiccup alone, with only the gentle hum of the fluorescent lighting, and the steady slurps of the History professor in the corner, still making steady work on his coffee. After a few minutes of doing nothing but drumming his fingertips on the countertop, he headed back into the staff room and grabbed an old battered copy of Romeo and Juliet from his bag. If nothing interesting was going to happen this evening, he might as well use his time wisely. He perched himself on an upturned crate behind the counter and lost himself in the play, scrawling notes in the margin, and sticking post-it notes on important scenes.

He poked his head up over the top of the counter when the history professor rose from his seat, to give him a nod and a polite thank you, before ducking his head back down and getting right back to Shakespeare. When the last minutes of his shift rolled around, he stood, stretched, and left the star-crossed lovers on the counter, to start closing the shop up.

Just as he was flicking off the last appliance, there was a jingle behind him, and there was a gust of wind as the door opened. Hiccup’s jaw clicked.

“We’re closed,” he said, without turning around.

“The sign says you close at ten.”

Hiccup scowled. “It’s nine fifty-five.”

“Exactly. Not closed.”

“Sorry, it’s policy that we stop serving ten minutes before closing.”

“It takes two minutes.”

Hiccup gave a long sigh and turned around. He was rather surprised to find someone he recognised on the other side of the counter; Astrid Hofferson, a fellow English student, looked rather frazzled. Her jacket was half-slung off her shoulder, her hair was a mess, and she was rocking back and forward on her toes, like she was desperate to leave the building. 

“I’ve already switched everything off.”

She gave him a look, like she thought he was the stupidest man on Earth. “So, switch it back on.” 

“Astrid—”

“—How do you know my name?”

She froze, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“We’re on the same course,” Hiccup said. Her face was blank. “We share all of the same classes. I introduced myself to you on the first day, do you not remember?”

She eyed his name tag and raised an eyebrow. “I’d remember a guy named Hiccup.”

“It’s a nickname,” he said, hotly.

Indignation was burning in the back of his throat, first that she was being the textbook rude customer, and second, that in two years of sharing the same classes, this girl didn’t seem to have any idea who he was.

She hadn’t made any sign of movement, and Hiccup realised, with a sinking heart, that she wasn’t going to budge. 

"What do you want then?” he said, the last shreds of his customer service manners vanishing along with his goodwill.

Astrid didn’t seem to care about his manners, she just listed her order, counting her money out on the counter, while Hiccup began to flick appliances back on to start them up again. As her coffee brewed, Astrid hopped from foot to foot, her fingers drumming on her arms. Hiccup glowered at her from over the counter, and once the drink was ready, he screwed on a lid and slammed it onto the countertop so hard that liquid began to slosh out. Astrid gave him a filthy look, but took the drink anyway, turning on her heel without so much of a thank you.

“Keep the change!” she yelled, before disappearing into the night.

The door slammed behind her, letting in a big gust of wind before nothing but the sound of the coffee machine behind him and the lights above him filled the air.

“You’re welcome,” Hiccup said to the empty room.

* * *

 

Professor Vaughn-Stretton was actually _clicking_ at her.

“Miss Hofferson? Over here, please!”

Astrid clenched her jaw and sucked in a breath. The professor wasn’t even looking at her. His nose was in his books, one hand flourishing in the air as he snapped his fingers, like she was a dog and he was calling her to his heel. If he’d whistled, she’d have dumped his coffee right over his head.

She put on her best saccharine smile and headed to his desk. “How can I help you?”

“I left my briefcase in the lecture theatre, be a dear and go pick it up for me, would you?”

In her mind’s eye, Astrid punched him. She curled her hand into a fist, and socked him right in his stupid mouth, knocking that self-assured, patronising expression right off his face and into next week.

“No problem!” she said instead, in that fake falsetto polite voice she’d been using all day. Then she turned on her heel and high-tailed it out of there, doing her best not to slam the door on the way out.

Assault, while satisfying, would look terrible on her transcript. 

She marched down the hall, not paying attention to where she was going - and slammed right into another student, knocking them both to the ground. The stack of paper the other person was holding went flying, scattering across the floor.

“Sorry!” Astrid gasped, crawling across the floor and scrambling to help pick them up.

“You look like you want to hurt somebody.” Astrid looked up to see Heather Whitman gathering pages onto her lap, looking at Astrid with an amused smile. “Bad day?”

“Don’t ask,” Astrid groaned, gathering up the last of Heather’s things and pulling herself to her feet. “If I told you I was going to murder someone you’d stop me, right? Like, you wouldn’t let me go through with it, would you?” 

Heather tilted her head to the side. “Vaughn-Stretton.”

“Vaughn-Stretton,” Astrid sighed, handing Heather the rest of her things. “I’m this close to jumping out of one of the top floor windows and taking him with me. Hey, did I tell you about last night?”

* * *

 

The previous night, after finishing her studies for the day, she’d headed to Professor Vaughn-Stretton’s office, and found him mid-workflow. He’d apparently hit a breakthrough on his research project and had to simply drop everything in order to work on it. All evening, Astrid had been running around at his beck and call, filling every demand. 

At nine forty-five, he threw his arms up in the air and groaned. “I need coffee.”

Astrid blinked. “Coffee, sir?”

“Coffee. Go get me some,” he said, opening his wallet and throwing a fiver at her. “Coffee shop closest to campus does the best.”

“It’s nearly ten, sir, it’ll be closing,” Astrid protested.

“Go quickly then.”

“They stop serving after—”

“Miss Hofferson,” he interrupted her, stopping her in her tracks. He finally looked up at her with a beady stare. “You know how lucky you are to be my assistant?”

“Yes, but—”

“Few people are given the opportunity to work with me directly. It’s a coveted position.”

“I know, but—”

“So, when I ask for coffee,” he said, his voice darkening, “you get me coffee. I don’t care what you have to do to get it, just go get it.”

* * *

 Astrid relayed the whole conversation from the previous night to Heather, who by the end, had her hand clasped over her open mouth.

“He must be getting worse with age,” she said. “Not even Eret’s stories are that bad.”

“He’s matured like sour milk,” Astrid said, flicking through Heather’s papers before handing them back to her. “I had it in my head last night that I was going to ask him about my final essay. I was going to show him, and make him read it for me, and instead, I was running around, abusing the poor guy behind the counter just so that his royal highness could get some fucking coffee at ten o’clock at night.”

“He hasn’t even looked at your term paper?” Heather said, arching an eyebrow. “Come on, girl, you’ve been working for him for what, three weeks, now?”

“Close to a month and a half, actually,” Astrid said, dryly.

“A month and a half, and he hasn’t even looked at any of your work? Wasn’t that part of the deal of working for him?”

Astrid clenched her teeth. “It was supposed to be,” she said. “But I don’t want to bug him, or sound demanding, or petulant, or anything.”

“Astrid, no. You can’t let him walk all over you like this,” Heather said sharply, hastily stuffing her things into her bag so that her hands were free to press firmly on Astrid’s shoulders. “If you don’t hold him to his promises he’s going to keep getting away with treating you like a servant.”

“He has seniority!” Astrid said. “If I rock the boat, I might lose all hope of getting his approval and his reference.”

“No. You’re not letting him do this to you,” Heather said, turning Astrid on her heel and marching her back towards Vaughn-Stretton’s offices. “You’re going to go in there, and you’re going to ask him to look at your work, and you’re going to make him give you feedback.”

“But I was supposed to get his—”

“No. No excuses. Get in there and make him listen to you.”

Astrid had no choice. Once they’d reached the offices, Heather pressed a hand firmly behind Astrid’s back and pushed her through Vaughn-Stretton’s door. She stumbled over the threshold, blinking owlishly up at the professor, who was staring at her with an unimpressed look.

“Well?” he said, pushing his glasses up on the ridge of his nose. “Do you have it?”

Astrid frowned, silently cursing Heather in her head. “Actually, sir,” she began, brushing herself down. “I was wondering if I could ask something of you.”

Vaughn-Stretton gave a long sigh, like she was the biggest nuisance he had ever come across. “And what is that?”

“Well, uh,” Astrid said, rummaging around in her bag and pulling out the most recent draft of her final essay. “I’ve been working with you for a while now, and I was wondering if you could possibly take some time to give me some feedback on my term paper?”

She held out her paper and cringed at how crumpled and folded it was from having been shoved in her bag.

_So much for looking professional._

The professor eyed her paper with disdain, and they stood in silence for a few long seconds before he let out another sigh. “Fine, give it here,” he said. “It’s not like I can do anything without my briefcase, anyway.”

Astrid stood in awkward silence, her right hand clutching on to her left arm, while she waited for him to read over her paper. It was an agonising few minutes, and aside from a few stray sighs and one or two tuts, she couldn’t decipher what the professor was thinking.

She was put out of her misery when, finally, he wrinkled his nose and looked back up at her. 

“You’ve got a lot of work to do on this, Miss Hofferson,” he said, sternly. “Your writing is sloppy. Your main argument is weak. Are you sure that gender is really the avenue that you want to go down?”

“My whole thesis is about the author’s treatment of women and how that reflects on both the time period his works are set in and the period he was writing from,” Astrid stammered. “I thought there was plenty of stuff I could talk about, like—”

“—Yes, well, I’m not convinced that this a strong enough argument,” Vaughn-Stretton said, “I mean, can you really call Hemingway sexist?”

“…Are we talking about the same guy?”

Vaughn-Stretton ignored her. “Listen, if you really want a good example of how to talk about gender,” he said, opening up his desk drawer and pulling out a piece of paper, “you should really read Henry Haddock’s work.”

Astrid’s jaw clicked.

_Henry Haddock._

“He really has a wonderful grasp on feminist theory, he has a true understanding of gender politics, his work is wonderful, really…”

Oh, what Astrid would give to go a day without hearing about Henry Haddock.

Professor Vaughn-Stretton’s personal favourite, Henry had been the bane of Astrid’s existence since their first year, and she didn’t even know what he looked like.

Always the top of every test, always the highest mark on every paper, Vaughn-Stretton brought him up almost every seminar, showering him in glowing praise in almost every class, and no matter how much Astrid had tried - _and oh, had she tried_ \- she couldn’t get a look-in. Not her polished papers, nor her perfect presentations served to impress the professor, and though she spent all of her free time doing nothing but running around at his beck and call, serving every demand, even the ridiculous ones - _like buying him coffee at ten o’clock at night_ \- and yet somehow, Henry Haddock didn’t have to say a word in class and he was _still_ Vaughn-Stretton’s favourite. 

Astrid took the paper from Vaughn-Stretton rather more forcefully than she meant to and scanned the page with her eyes. “Okay,” she said, a few minutes later, “but he’s basically making the same points as I am.” 

The professor gave a derisive snort. “Mr. Haddock is remarkably skilled at presenting a nuanced point of view…”

He kept talking, but at this point Astrid was tuning him out, focusing on her breathing so that she didn’t strike Vaughn-Shithead right between the eyes and knock his stupid glasses right off his face.

When Astrid looked up a few moments later, he was still talking. “I can set up a meeting between the two of you, if you like,” he said. “I’m sure he’d be happy to tutor you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Astrid said, curtly. She slipped Henry’s essay back onto the desk.

“Suit yourself,” Vaughn-Stretton said. “Now, I believe I asked you to get me my briefcase?”

Astrid didn’t dignify that with a response, she just turned on her heel and marched out of the room. 

On her way out, she stormed straight into Heather, who looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “So, how did it go?” she asked, her voice two notches brighter than usual.

Astrid didn’t answer. She kept walking.

“That bad, huh?” Heather said as she stumbled forward to match Astrid’s stride.

Astrid stopped short. “Heather, when they find him dead, his stupid old man glasses stuffed down his throat and a knife sticking out of his back, you’ll testify on my behalf, won’t you?”  

“Of course,” Heather said. “Providing alibis for your friends’ homicidal tendencies is basically rule one of girl code.” 

The corner of Astrid’s mouth twitched.

“C’mon,” Heather said, her hand brushing against Astrid’s shoulder. “It can’t have been that bad, right?”

Astrid let out a long sigh and let herself drop onto a bench nearby. “I can take criticism. I can take negative feedback. I can’t take him babbling on about another student who’s apparently better than me in every single way.” 

Heather sucked in a breath. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” Astrid said. “My writing stinks, apparently. Henry Haddock’s writing is a gift from the gods, though. Henry Haddock, by the way, who I only know because Vaughn-Shithead brings him up in every other breath. I’ve never even met him.”

“Henry?” Heather said, her eyebrows raised. “He’s not that bad of a guy, actually.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“Yeah,” Heather said, “except he doesn’t like being called Henry. He goes by Hiccup—”

“—he WHAT?”

* * *

 

The morning shifts at Bean & Gone were just as bad as the late ones.

There were a steady stream of students coming in and out of the shop, all of them stocking up on caffeine for the day ahead. They all looked about as awake as Hiccup felt, and he found that, for the first half hour of his shift, he worked on autopilot, letting his muscle memory take orders and make drinks, while his brain took the time to catch up to his body.

He was quickly brought back to reality though, when one customer marched up to the counter and slammed her hands down onto the countertop.

“Henry Haddock,” she said, her voice spitting venom.

Hiccup almost took a step back from the counter when he was met with the furious face of Astrid Hofferson, who was leaning so far across the counter that they were almost nose-to-nose. 

“What can I do for you, Astrid?”

“ _You’re_ Henry Haddock.”

Hiccup blinked, his eyes shifting away for a second and then back at her. “I know I am.”

“ _You’re_ the Henry Haddock that’s been beating me to the top spot in every single class,” she said.

Hiccup couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from the back of his throat and came sputtering out. It was definitely a mistake. She looked affronted, her hands twisting into fists on the table top.

“So…” Hiccup said, his laughter falling to an awkward chuckle when Astrid didn’t budge from her spot. “You gonna order, or…?”

There was a long pause, and Hiccup watched as Astrid’s expression changed. Her shoulders and hands relaxed, and though her face was still red, she offered him a smile. Not a nice smile, Hiccup noted to himself. A dangerous smile.

Then, without taking a breath, Astrid said, “A venti salted caramel mocha frappucino with five pumps of frap roast, four pumps of caramel sauce, four pumps of caramel syrup, three pumps of mocha, three pumps of toffee nut syrup, double blended with extra whipped cream.”

Another pause. Astrid did nothing but glare.

“You’re serious?” Hiccup said, his mouth gaping open.

Astrid kept staring at him.

“Who would even drink that—”

“—are you going to make me it or not?”

Hiccup waited another breath, and wondered for a moment if this was some kind of elaborate prank, before stammering, “Can you repeat that?”

Astrid rolled her eyes and repeated the order again, without taking a breath, _again_.

His fingers couldn’t get to the screen quick enough to punch in her order. It took him another three tries to get it right, and by the time he’d finally managed to do it, there was a queue forming behind Astrid, a long line of people growing steadily more impatient.

Making the drink took even longer, not helped by the fact that he had to check and recheck the order to make sure he’d made it exactly right. Hiccup had a feeling that Astrid wouldn’t except any mistakes. Once it was made, Hiccup handed it over and fought the urge not to make a face. Who in their right minds could drink this high maintenance sickly-sweet mess?

But Astrid took it, gave him a similarly sickly-sweet smile and headed to one of the tables, drinking the whole thing in about two minutes. He couldn’t appreciate the train-wreck in action, as he turned back to face a huge line of people clicking their teeth in impatience.

Astrid watched him from her corner, a satisfied smirk on her face, and Hiccup was sure that she’d done it on purpose.

* * *

 

Astrid showed up at Bean & Gone every day that week. 

It was like clockwork; she’d figured out the exact times that the shop was at its busiest - and Hiccup was pretty sure that she’d memorised his entire shift schedule too - and she would stride up to the counter and order the most complicated and disgusting sounding drink that she could. She’d watch him struggle with it, make him repeat the order over and over again, and then she’d sit and drink the whole thing, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.

He didn’t know what he’d done to piss her off, but he did know, with all certainty, that Astrid Hofferson was going to be a problem.


	2. as welcome as a bath mat of lego

"And she's been coming in a lot?"

"Every day," Hiccup grunted, his voice muffled from the screwdriver wedged in his mouth. "I just wish I knew what I'd done to piss her off so much."

Hiccup was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the counter, wrestling with the coffee machine in his lap. It had started sparking the day before, sputtering and refusing to function properly, before it conked out completely. Gobber had told them to leave it for an electrician, but Hiccup's frustration had built and built until there was nothing to do but take it out on the broken appliance.

Fishlegs chewed on his lip, casting a worried eye down from his position behind the counter. "I think you're making it worse."

Hiccup scowled, stabbing the machine twice with the screwdriver. "It's got to be something more than just me beating her in a couple of tests. She's got it out for me."

He put the screwdriver back in his mouth, attacking the machine with his fingers instead, attempting to rip the back end off by wedging his fingernails in between the cracks. It didn't work.

"Do you even know anything about electronics?" Fishlegs asked.

"I don't even know her that well. How is it possible that I've ticked her off that badly," Hiccup grumbled, screwdriver hanging on the edge of his lips, "when I've barely even exchanged two sentences with her before last week?"

"You're going to electrocute yourself."

"She's got all of her friends in on it, you saw them giggling when she came to get her drink today. She's got a vendetta against me, I swear," Hiccup said, stabbing the coffee machine again.

With a jolt and a clang, Hiccup managed to fling the casing of the machine open. Fishlegs' eyes bugged out as he watched Hiccup lift the screwdriver up, ready to descend it down onto the wiring.

"Hiccup, stop!" Fishlegs flew from the counter and forcefully snatched the screwdriver from Hiccup's fingers. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Hiccup gave a very long, tortured sigh, but he let Fishlegs rescue the machine, letting out a groan and resting his back against the counter.

Fishlegs tutted, running his little finger along the dent Hiccup had left. "You realise we're going to have to pay extra to fix this now?"

Hiccup said nothing, sticking out his lower lip into a pout and crossing his arms, childishly. He knew he was being ridiculous - the floor was sticky, there would probably be customers he needed to attend to soon, and it certainly wasn't Fishlegs' fault that he was in such a bad mood - but even so, he couldn't stop himself. Astrid Hofferson brought out the absolute worst in him.

"It's like dealing with a toddler," Fishlegs muttered.

He was about to chide Hiccup some more, but he was interrupted by a cough, and then an "ahem?" in a very familiar, unwelcome voice.

Fishlegs swivelled - somewhat ungracefully - around to greet the customer, his lips curling into a fake smile. "How can I help you?"

Astrid - Fishlegs had become very familiar with Astrid now, from Hiccup's descriptions, if from nothing else - smiled sweetly. "I need to speak to Henry," she said.

Hiccup's face twisted in horror, and he flattened his back against the counter, covering his eyes as if to hide himself. "He's not here!" he stage-whispered up at Fishlegs. "He's gone on his break!"

Astrid hadn't been alone today. She'd queued up with two other girls - both of them unfamiliar to Hiccup, but if they hung out with her, they were probably just as heinous. While she'd ordered, the other two had watched, while smirking. Astrid's drink today was a venti coffee Frappuccino with two scoops of ice, five pumps of frap roast, double blended. It had been so thick, he'd had to scoop it out with a spoon, and he was pretty sure that their blenders had met the same fate as the coffee machine he'd spent the afternoon wrestling with.

The last thing he needed was to remake that order.

Behind the counter, Astrid broke into a peal of laughter, and Hiccup's jaw clenched. He'd never thought laughter could sound so grating.

"So, is he going to hide behind the counter until I'm gone, or does he just enjoy sitting on a grimy floor?" she said to Fishlegs.

Hiccup scowled again - it was becoming a permanent fixture on his face - and dragged himself up off the floor to meet Astrid at the counter.

* * *

Henry Haddock did not look good. Usually, he looked rather placid and unimposing, with wide green eyes that were covered by a flop of brown hair. Instead, his hair was sticking up all over the place, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched beneath the loose black shirt he always wore for work. She felt a nasty, vindictive rush of pleasure at the thought of Henry having a bad day - it was nothing less than he deserved.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

It was a standard, polite customer service line, but the sentiment didn't quite reach his eyes. He glared down at her, hands twisted into fists on the counter, his eyes darkly daring her to mess with him even more.

Who was she to pass up an invitation like that?

"I need another drink," Astrid said, not bothering to hide the smile playing on her lips.

Henry clicked his tongue loudly against his teeth. "What was wrong with your other one?"

Astrid shrugged. "Didn't taste very good."

"It's policy, Astrid, I can't make you something else just because you didn't like the first one. You already paid for it."

She rolled her eyes. "Henry—"

"—Hiccup," Henry said with a grunt. "My name is Hiccup."

"I can't believe you'd willingly call yourself Hiccup over Henry," Astrid said, "and I wasn't asking for another one for _free_."

She waved her wallet at him.

"Fine," Henry said, exhaling with more than a hint of exasperation. "What can I get for you?"

Astrid stroked her chin, her eyes flickering across the menu, as if deliberating very carefully. "I think I'll try a Trenta iced coffee cream, with twenty pumps of raspberry and twenty pumps of white mocha."

As he punched the order in, he looked up at her in disgust. " _Twenty?_ "

"You heard me."

The two locked eyes for a moment, Henry staring at her with one eyebrow raised, the picture of disdain. Astrid held his gaze, resolute.

Henry was the first to look away, mumbling, "I don't know why I even bother to ask," as he tapped the rest of the order into the computer. "D'you want anything else with that? A slice of cake? A muffin? A shot of insulin?"

A splutter of laughter burst from Astrid before she could stop it. She smothered it with her hand, ignoring the look Hiccup was giving her. "Not today, thanks," she said, trying to stop herself from smiling.

He turned and let his back face as he made the order, while Astrid rocked from foot to foot and whistled a little tune. "Nice day today," she commented, her hands behind her back. "Good day for making coffee."

"Yeah," Henry mumbled, "you know what else it's a good day for?"

"What's that?"

"Leaving," he said emphatically, slamming her drink down onto the countertop.

Astrid didn't try to smother her grin this time, her smile stretching across her face as she picked up the cup. "Thanks, Henry," she said sweetly, before turning towards the door.

"My. Name. Is. Hiccup!"

It wasn't until after she'd closed the door behind her that she descended into giggles.

* * *

"If I close my eyes and don't look," Hiccup said, splayed across the sofa, his good leg flung across the back cushion, his prosthetic resting against the coffee table, one hand pressed over his eyes, "then Astrid won't be in all of my classes this semester."

She'd visited the coffee shop every day that week.

First, it had been a grande, quad, nonfat, one pump, no-whip mocha. Then, it was a vanilla bean Frappuccino, with five pumps of every hot bar syrup they had. She did all the standard things annoying customers did - demanding a grande in a venti cup, deliberately mispronouncing espresso, asking for free water - and by the time Friday rolled around, Hiccup was ready to pull his hair out. He'd skipped out early, shutting the coffee shop a good thirty minutes before it was supposed to be closed, and headed home. Fishlegs followed him, if for nothing else but to stop him from destroying something out of frustration, like the poor coffee machine.

It wasn't until Hiccup had freed himself from his prosthetic and thrown himself across the sofa, that he remembered he was supposed to check his class list for the new semester.

"Check for me," Hiccup mumbled, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face against a cushion. "I'm too afraid."

His laptop was open on the coffee table, and he nudged it towards Fishlegs with the tips of his fingers.

Fishlegs sighed, but he pulled the computer towards him anyway. "Alright," he said, clicking through, "Elizabethan literature, renaissance, modern and contemporary… sorry, Hiccup, looks like she's in all of them."

"You're _joking_  me," Hiccup exclaimed, throwing himself towards the table and grabbing the laptop from Fishlegs' hands.

"It's kinda hard to miss, your names are right next to each other."

Hiccup checked it for himself, and sure enough, there were the names:  _HADDOCK, H_  and  _HOFFERSON, A_ , written next to each other in damning black script across his screen.

He groaned, flinging himself back onto the sofa. "This is the worst day of my life," he said, and then a horrible thought came to his mind. "Oh god, what if they make us sit alphabetically?"

"They won't make you sit alphabetically," Fishlegs said, "this is university, not pre-school."

* * *

Apparently, this was pre-school.

"Sorry!" Cathy, their seminar tutor, said brightly, "I know it's not ideal, but I find it's easier to learn everybody's names if I seat you alphabetically!"

Dr. Cathy Wainwright had been a lecturer and tutor since his first year, and despite her PhD and numerous accolades, she still treated everyone as if they were back in school. She looked a bit like a school teacher too, with tweed skirts and a pair of red-rimmed glasses that she had to keep pushing up her nose.

Despite her twee appearance, she had a sadistic streak, or at least Hiccup thought so, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting at a table at the front of the room, inches away from Astrid Hofferson. Cathy had lied – she knew everyone's names already. She'd done this deliberately to torture them.

He could feel the hatred radiating off of Astrid. She hadn't said so much as a word to him since he'd sat down, but he'd seen the subtle curl of Astrid's lips as he'd been assigned the seat.

_What did I do to you?_ He wanted to scream it at her.  _What did I do to make you hate me so much?_

He didn't scream at her though, he just watched her out of the corner of his eye as she drummed her blue-painted fingernails up and down on the table while they waited for class to start.

"Right!" Cathy said, clapping her hands together. "Who wants to start the discussion?"

Nobody in the room spoke.

"Come on, don't be shy!"

The class stayed silent.

Cathy put her hands on her hips. "If nobody is going to speak, I'm just going to have to pick someone at random and make them talk."

_Oh, no._

She pulled out her paper-form register and let her finger trail down the list. "Let's see here…"

_Not me. Not me. Not me._

Hiccup did everything he could to seem inconspicuous. He ducked his head down, stared solidly at his fingers.

"Ah!" Cathy said. "Henry Haddock! You're always very quiet, how about you start us off?"

Hiccup's heart sank. His hand instantly went to scratch the back of his head. "Er…" he mumbled.

He could feel Astrid's gaze hot on him, and although he wasn't looking at her, he knew her mouth had twisted into a smirk.

"Maybe you could give us some of your thoughts on  _Romeo and Juliet?_ " Cathy prompted.

"Well, I—" Hiccup began. He could feel the whole room looking at him.  _God, how was he supposed to form sentences when so many people were looking at him?_  "—I suppose it's a very romantic story—"

"—Romantic?" Hiccup was cut off by a very loud scoff from the person sitting next to him.

Astrid was looking at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised. "You think it's  _romantic_?" she carried on.

"I guess?" Hiccup stammered, embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. "Everything's against them, and they choose each other anyway."

"What good does it do?" Astrid said, firmly. "They die. I hardly see how that's romantic."

Hiccup felt the indignation burning his chest, and bit by bit, he stopped thinking about everyone else in the room, just about her. He wasn't going to let her make a mockery of him.

"Isn't it about throwing yourself into something, no matter the odds?" Hiccup said. "To be so passionate about something that even though you know the whole world's against you still give it a shot?"

Astrid eyed him for a moment, and then curled her lip. "No. It's a cautionary tale - don't fall in love, look at all the problems it causes."

"But don't you think that's a shallow reading?" Hiccup said. "To boil down one of the greatest tragic love stories to a simple anti-love statement seems a bit reductive, doesn't it?"

Astrid narrowed her eyes. "Let's see," she said, counting down on her fingers, "Romeo and Juliet 'fall in love'—" she aggressively air quoted as she spoke— "after one day, get married after two, attempt to run away and then botch their own fake suicides and manage to do it for real, all whilst getting three people killed along the way. I don't understand how that's not a cautionary tale about teenage love, how it doesn't work, and how you can't be in love after one day."

"That's just reducing it down to the basic beats rather than giving any consideration for what any of it means," Hiccup said, crossly. He could feel himself going red. "You put so much effort into explaining why you think Romeo and Juliet are idiots that you don't take any time to consider what the feud means for them. It doesn't matter how old or mature they are, they could have been in their twenties and had a courtship for years and it still would have ended the same way - it's not them as people, it's not their fault, it's the fault of the families, and of the feud."

Hiccup took a breath, and then realised that he and Astrid were practically nose-to-nose. He'd forgotten about the class full of people, and just now noticed that everyone was staring at the two of them.

Cathy was watching them carefully, a grin on her face. "Excellent points, both of you," she said. "I'd like to add a few words about the feud. Think about it: there are two families who have been fighting for so long - it's all they know, and it's all they know how to do. They haven't even considered that there could be another way - the Montagues hate the Capulets, that's just how it is. That's the real tragedy of the story, that it takes six people, including their own children's suicide, for them to realise that they don't even know why they're fighting in the first place."

Hiccup and Astrid eyed each other, and then both looked away.

"Right," Cathy said. "Anyone else got anything to add?"

The seminar continued, and Hiccup did his very best not to look Astrid's way again.

After it was over, Cathy pulled Hiccup to the side.

"I'm happy to see you in my class again, Henry," she said. "Even happier to see you participating! I don't think I've ever heard you speak so much."

Hiccup just shrugged.

"Y'know what I think?" Cathy said, "I think Astrid's really good for you."

"I don't—" Hiccup said sharply, and then stopped, when he realised he had no idea how to express  _just how wrong_  she was.

"I think you need her," she said, reaching out a hand to squeeze Hiccup's shoulder. "She's like your foil, she makes you work harder."

_Bullshit_ , Hiccup thought to himself, thirty minutes later, still stewing and grinding his teeth.

Astrid wasn't good for him. Astrid made him question his morals, because he'd never considered murder so appealing until he'd met her.

He needed Astrid Hofferson like he needed several splinters up his fingernails.

* * *

Hiccup was still fuming about the seminar much later at his evening shift, storming around the store as he shut off appliances, cleaned tables, and swept the floor.

He slammed his mop into a bucket of soapy water with so much force that he almost spilled it everywhere.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?"

He'd been so focused on violently wiping away as much dirt as possible that he'd walked straight into his manager. He looked down at Hiccup, his hands on his hips, a half smile on his face.

"Nothing," Hiccup said, with a scowl.

"Well, you've wiped the floor at least three times over and if you grip that mop any harder, I'm worried you're going to break it."

Their manager was huge, thickset, with a scraggly yellow moustache; he would have been imposing if it weren't for the crinkles either side of his eyes and a quirk of a half-smile that softened his features and made him approachable. He spoke with a thick Scottish accent, and he'd asked all of them to call him Gobber. When they'd asked him why, he'd said, wryly, "that's a story none of you need to know."

"He's thinking about Astrid Hofferson," Snotlout called from his seat on the countertop, not looking up from his phone.

Gobber scowled. "Get off that bloody thing and do some work. What do I pay you for?"

"'Kay, sorry," Snotlout muttered. He made no sign of movement, still not looking up from his phone.

Gobber raised his eyes to the heavens. "Who's Astrid?"

Hiccup opened his mouth to answer, but Fishlegs, who'd been cleaning one of the coffee machines underneath the counter, popped his head up and answered for him. "She's this girl who keeps coming in to order weird, complicated drinks. Hiccup thinks she's got it in for him."

"She  _does_ have it in for me," Hiccup insisted. "She's deliberately trying to make my life difficult."

Fishlegs scoffed. "She's not trying to do anything."

"Are we talking about the same girl?"

"Remember," Gobber said, "everyone's welcome in Bean & Gone. We must treat every customer with the utmost respect."

"She's as welcome as a bath mat made of lego," Hiccup muttered under his breath.

Gobber cuffed him over the head. "What's got into you? I expect this from the likes of him—" he jabbed his thumb in Snotlout's direction— "but you're usually so polite. What's this girl done that's so terrible?"

"She just—" Hiccup clenched his jaw— "gets under my skin."

"Well, don't let it get to you," Gobber said. "We can't afford to get complaints. I have inspectors breathing down my neck every other day, we don't need to give them any extra leverage."

"Fine," Hiccup said, sourly.

"Which reminds me," Gobber began, "does anyone want to explain to me why the broken coffee machine looks like the last bastion of caffeine in a nuclear apocalypse?"

"It started sparking last week," Fishlegs explained, "And then Hiccup decided to let out his frustrations on it."

Hiccup flushed a bright red. "I was fixing it!"

Fishlegs raised an eyebrow. "You were stabbing it with a screwdriver."

"So?"

"It's amazing you didn't electrocute yourself."

"Guys, please," Gobber groaned. "I told you to leave it for the repair guy. You know it costs extra when it looks like it's been messed with."

"Sorry," Hiccup and Fishlegs mumbled together.

"And while I'm on the subject, we gotta talk about health and safety."

Snotlout let out a long groan. "Must we?"

"We must if you want to keep your job," he said, patience wearing thin.

Snotlout pressed his lips together into a thin line. "Fine."

"First of all, I've sent for an electrician to check the wiring. I know we've had a few power cuts here and there and I'm slightly concerned that it's going to turn into a bigger problem. If something happens when I'm not around, if anything starts sparking or you smell anything weird, report it immediately," Gobber said.

All three of them nodded.

"Next," Gobber said, "you guys have gotta be more careful of where you put things. For the love of God, Snotlout, you have to stop leaving delivery boxes on the shop floor, because one day someone is going to trip and hurt themselves. I don't care how difficult it is to carry them round the back. You do it."

Snotlout leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, and his chin practically touching his chest and his pouted. "Fine," he said, his lower lip sticking out.

"Good," Gobber said. "Anyway, I won't keep you three for any longer, just make sure you're in on time tomorrow, and no slacking off. I'm looking at you, Snotlout."

Snotlout had already pulled his phone back out from his pocket. "Yeah, bye."

He stood up and swept out of the room. The rest of them watched him go.

"Unbelievable," Gobber muttered, before turning his attention to Hiccup and Fishlegs. "Have a good night, you two."

Hiccup and Fishlegs bade their manager goodnight and gathered their things. On the way out, Gobber squeezed Hiccup on the shoulder.

"Don't let this Astrid girl get you down," he said, kindly. "It's not worth it, in the end."

Hiccup nodded but bit his lip.

It was a nice sentiment, but he had a feeling that it didn't matter whether or not he let Astrid get to him - that girl was going to find a way to burrow deep into his nerves and bring them all to the surface.

He was pretty sure that however awful Astrid had been to him so far, he hadn't seen the worst of it yet.

* * *

He couldn't have been more right because across campus it was time for Astrid's nightly contemplation about murder.

Her work with Professor Vaughn-Stretton was as frustrating as ever. Since the last time she'd tried to get him to read her work, he'd turned his nose up every time she attempted to get him to look at another paper. He was always too busy, he didn't have the time, "my work is just too important to leave right this minute!" he'd say.

She always asked the next day, and his answer was always the same. He'd suck in a breath, he'd give some excuse, and then he'd say, "ask me tomorrow, I'll get to it then!"

That's what he'd said tonight, and not for the first time, Astrid had to grit her teeth, put on a smile, and wonder why she put herself through this.

"Miss Hofferson, you couldn't be a dear and photocopy these sheets for me, would you?"

_I'd like to slam your head under a photocopier._

"No problem!" she said, with a fake smile so big and forced that it hurt her cheeks.

Astrid stomped out of the room, her fingers curling around the sheets of paper so hard that she had to fight off the urge to rip them. Fortunately, her self-control and her fear of Vaughn-Stretton's wrath had her keep them in pristine condition by the time she got to the photocopier.

As she put sheet after sheet through the machine, she was reminded of something her mother taught her long ago.

When Astrid was a toddler, she'd been the type of child to throw tantrums. The kind of wobblies that could bring an entire pre-school classroom and its poor, underpaid teacher to their knees. One day, Astrid's mother had taken her hands and knelt to her level.

"Astrid, my dear," she'd said, "some days you're going to feel angry at everyone. Some days everyone around you is going to frustrate you so much that you just want to scream and scream and scream. But sometimes you can't scream. Sometimes you need to put on a smile, and a brave face and power through it."

Astrid had puffed her cheeks out and pouted. "How?"

"You have to think about what makes you happy," she'd said. "Instead of focusing on what's making you angry, you have to think about a place, or a time or a situation where you were happy."

The conversation drifted into Astrid's thoughts as page after page came shooting out of the photocopier.

Where was her happy place now?

She wouldn't describe it as happiness exactly, but it wasn't hard to recollect the last time she'd felt good – it had been a sadistic kind of glee, the kind of terrible satisfaction that came from messing with someone else, and as she gathered photocopies into her hands, Henry Haddock flickered in her mind.

There was something wonderful about bringing him down a peg. After so many hours of hearing stories about the golden boy who could do no wrong, there was a sadistic thrill in watching him struggle over ridiculous drink orders, and stammer whilst she grilled him in class.

Maybe that made her a horrible person. Maybe she was okay with that.

When she went back to Vaughn-Stretton's office, she found that was no longer angry when Vaughn-Stretton demanded something else ridiculous from her. Instead, she was thinking about all the different drinks she could order, all the different combinations she could try, in short - she was thinking about all the ways that she could make the boy behind the counter suffer.

Henry Haddock had no idea what was coming.


	3. death threats are a customer service

Since the day that Astrid had marched into Bean & Gone for the first time, intent on making Hiccup's life an absolute misery, he'd started to notice her everywhere. She didn't just show up for her daily dose of diabetes or for the seminars and lectures they shared, no, she seemed to pop up in every aspect of Hiccup's life. The cafeteria was no longer safe - she was there every lunch time, gabbing away to her friends as she ate. He'd taken to sneaking his portion of fries and eating them in a dark corner of the library, far away from her.

One morning, he'd found her waiting alone at the bus stop, and he'd ducked behind the bus shelter so that she wouldn't see him - and promptly, missed the bus. He'd had to wait for the next one, which didn't come until he'd been suitably drenched by the rain. He'd walked into his lecture fifteen minutes late, dripping with water, everyone's eyes on him as he opened the door. Embarrassment coursed through him, hot and heavy on his cheeks, not helped by the fact that Astrid's eyes tracked him as he got into his seat, a smug grin on her face.

She'd been at the weekly pub quiz he always went to, she'd been in the gym when he went to use a treadmill, and he'd seen her more than a few times at the local club, dancing and screaming with her friends.

"It's not funny," Hiccup grumbled. "She's following me everywhere. It's like she's decided that making life miserable for me at work isn't enough, and now she's got to find other ways to torture me."

Fishlegs rolled his eyes. "She's not trying to torture you."

"She is. Why else would she show up everywhere I am?"

"What has she done to you outside of the drink thing?" Fishlegs asked.

Hiccup opened his mouth, ready to tell Fishlegs all of the ways that Astrid had been trying to ruin his life, and then realised that he didn't have anything to say. He was going to bring up the seminars they shared, but, despite challenging every point that he made, Astrid was remarkably restrained in those. Maybe it had something to do with the adult supervision – she couldn't be too awful in front of the lecturers.

"Well. Nothing, really," he conceded.

"Exactly."

"But that doesn't mean she won't!" Hiccup crossed his arms. "It's like she's watching me. Waiting for the perfect moment to do something awful."

Fishlegs snorted. "She's not a super villain, Hiccup. Astrid Hofferson has better things to do than dedicate her life to ruining yours."

"Could've fooled me," Hiccup muttered.

He had reached breaking point. Technically, he'd reached breaking point a day ago, and the day before that, and the day before that, but this time, he'd really hit breaking point. So much so that he was about to break something else. He should have been used to Astrid's antics by now, but the way she'd walked in today, smarmy smile on her face as she gave her order - a venti mango black tea lemonade with 24 pumps of mango - had him grinding his teeth together.

"Busy today, we're backed up with orders," he'd bit out after he'd typed her drink in, "take a seat, and we'll bring your drink to you."

"I'll be at my usual table," Astrid said, with a smile that utterly masked what an evil witch sent straight from hell she was.

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he muttered.

He relayed the conversation to Fishlegs and Snotlout while he prepared the disgusting drink, his teeth gritted the whole time.

"Y'know, there's a simple solution to your problem," Snotlout said, looking up from his phone for a moment.

He was sitting on an upturned crate on the floor beneath the counter, barely even pretending to work, as usual.

"What?" Hiccup grumbled, crumpling a napkin between his fists, while he waited for the machine.

"Retaliate."

"Retaliate how?" Hiccup said, and then wrinkled his nose as he finished making a drink. "Ugh. This has got to be one of the worst."

He waved it in Snotlout's face, only for his cousin to smack it out of the way. "Get that away, it's vomit central."

Fishlegs twisted away from the counter to look over for a second, his face screwing up. "…She hasn't, like, thrown up from one of these yet, has she?" he said, his forehead wrinkling. "Because that is going to push her over the line."

"Please, the woman has an iron stomach," Hiccup said, heading out onto the shop floor, drink in hand, before something on the corner of the counter caught his eye, and he stopped.

Snotlout watched him, as he stood, frozen in space. "What do you need, an invitation?"

"No," Hiccup said, taking a fistful of salt packets from the jar on the counter, "but I think I've got an idea."

He took the drink back into the kitchen. Fishlegs watched him go, his brows furrowing together as realisation set in.

"Hiccup, no," Fishlegs said and abandoned the counter, ignoring his customer's cry of frustration. "You can't do that."

"Oh, he can do this," Snotlout said with unrestrained glee. This was apparently entertaining enough for him to look up from his phone. "I'm so proud of you, Hiccup!"

Hiccup grimaced at the idea, but that uncomfortable thought wasn't enough to stop him, as he brandished the salt packets on high.

"Think about what Gobber would say!" Fishlegs said, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. "This is a health violation. What if she has allergies?!"

Hiccup tipped his head back and let out a long groan, slamming the salt packets back on the table, before marching out from behind the counter and storming towards Astrid's table.

She looked up at him and blinked. "Henry?"

_Henry._  Hiccup's jaw set on edge.

"Do you have any allergies?"

Astrid's lips curled upwards in the most irritating way. "You what?" she said.

"Allergies," he repeated, "do you have any allergies?"

"No."

"Diabetes?" he said. "I mean, I'm gonna assume that you don't have diabetes judging by what you drink—"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "I don't have diabetes, Henry. Now, what—"

"Any foods that might cause hospitalisation or anaphylactic shock?"

"—No, now what are you—"

"Good," Hiccup snapped, twisting on his heel and heading back to the counter.

He grabbed the salt packets up from the table, ripped them open, and dumped every last drop into the drink, before taking it back out to the tables and slamming it in front of Astrid.

When he joined Snotlout and Fishlegs back behind the counter, they were watching the scene, intently, ignoring the queue that was starting to leak out of the front door.

"I thought you didn't approve of this," Hiccup mumbled as he passed Fishlegs.

"It's like a car crash," Fishlegs said, "you know it's wrong, but you just can't help but take a look."

They watched as Astrid lifted the drink to her lips. It couldn't have been for more than a second, but for them, it seemed to happen in slow motion. She took a long deep gulp of the drink, and then froze.

"She's gonna spew," Snotlout stage-whispered.

She didn't spew. She turned slowly, her expression unreadable as she stared them all down. All three of them stilled, like deer in headlights.

And then she smiled.

Looking them dead in the eye, she lifted the cup to her lips and downed the whole thing, lifting her little finger like she'd come straight out of Jane Austen. She drained every last drop and then scrunched up the plastic cup with one hand, wiping her lips with the other.

The three of them remained frozen still.

She got up from her seat, tossed the crumpled cup into the nearest bin, threw a wink over at the boys behind the counter, and then marched out the door.

"Wow," Snotlout said, after a long pause, "that girl is something else."

* * *

"I'm going to throw up," Astrid moaned, before retching into the toilet.

"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been trying to mess with Hiccup," Heather said, examining her fingernails.

She was sitting cross-legged outside of the toilet door, a smile tugging on her lips. Astrid had found her outside of Bean & Gone, took her by the arm and told her in no uncertain terms that there was about to be an emergency and she was needed in the bathroom right away. She'd been tempted to ask exactly why Astrid needed her in there with her but trying to stop Astrid Hofferson from doing something she'd already set her mind to was like trying to stop a moving train in its tracks.

"Haven't you been listening?" Astrid whined. "Henry's the one that dumped all that salt in."

"You added 24 pumps of mango to a mango black tea lemonade. You were going to throw up anyway," Heather said, "and you didn't have to drink it."

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Pride."

Heather snorted. "It goes before a fall."

"You're not funny," Astrid grumbled.

Heather rested her head back on the toilet door, taking a pause before turning her head to the side and saying, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"The crazy drink orders."

"I told you, so I can ruin Henry Haddock's day," Astrid said.

Heather rolled her eyes. "You've never actually explained to me exactly what Hiccup did to you."

Astrid sighed, dropping down on the floor and resting her head next to the toilet bowl. "He's Vaughn-Stretton's favourite."

Heather frowned. "You know he can't help that."

"I know," she said, sticking her lower lip out into a pout, "but I can't mess with Vaughn-Shithead, so I have to mess with him instead."

There was a pause, silence filling the bathroom. "You know," Heather said, her tongue swiping across her lips, "Hiccup's really not that bad."

She almost fell backwards when Astrid yanked the door open, but she caught herself in time, managing to duck as Astrid marched over her form towards the sink.

"Not that bad?" Astrid hissed, wrenching the tap on so hard she almost pulled it off. "He laps up Stretton's praise, laps it right up. He loves it. Has to be coerced to speak in class, he's so cocky, he thinks he can rely on essays alone, participation be damned. He knows he's the favourite, so he doesn't even bother to try. And do you remember that time he put salt in my drink?"

"He did that because you were messing with him."

"He did that because he's a jerk."

Heather shook her head, getting up off the floor and joining Astrid at the sink. "No. I don't think you hate him as much as you claim to."

"And why is that?"

"You don't get anything out of this, really. Seriously, Astrid, you're wasting a hell of a lot of money to buy crazy drinks that taste disgusting. You don't gain anything.  _Except_ ," Heather said, a gleam in her eye as a grin spread across her face, "it means you get to see him every day."

Astrid gaped at her, opening her mouth wide and jabbing her finger out as if she was about to say something of the greatest magnitude. Then, she snapped her mouth shut and stormed out of the door.

* * *

If Hiccup thought that Astrid was everywhere before his stunt with the salt and the drink, then he was very, very wrong.

It seemed that his retaliation had opened the floodgates. It wasn't just in Bean & Gone that she bothered him now, it was everywhere: it didn't matter where Hiccup went, he could be sure that Astrid Hofferson was lurking not far behind. Class had become a battle of wills - he'd rarely spoken in class before, too afraid that he was going to say the wrong thing and get laughed at, but now, he had to speak. Astrid challenged him on every point, undermined every single one of his answers and heckled him during his practice presentations.

Hiccup was starting to wonder what he wouldn't give to get away from Astrid Hofferson.

But the worst time had undoubtedly been at one of Tuff's infamous house parties.

How she even knew Tuffnut - Snotlout's permanently stoned best friend - was beyond him, but there she was, chatting merrily to one of Tuff's friends in the corner of his living room. Hiccup groaned and would have walked out if he wasn't seeking refuge from Snotlout. His cousin had been bugging him to join them in a drinking contest, and he had no desire to close the evening by puking his guts out on the street, no matter how many times Snotlout insisted that it was the only way to end a night.

Instead, Hiccup hovered awkwardly between the living room and the kitchen, clutching a drink and getting ready to duck out of Astrid's sight if she looked his way, doing his best not to touch anything. Tuff's house made Hiccup's skin crawl a little bit. The whole place seemed to never lose its haze of marijuana fog, and that weed smell clung to everything; he'd have to wash his clothes when he got home, even if he hadn't touched any of the joints that Tuffnut had offered. Hiccup had never been a hypochondriac, but whenever he was in Tuffnut's flat, he had the strong urge to scrub the whole place down with anti-bacterial spray.

"Sweet party, right?"

Hiccup jumped as Tuffnut clapped a hand on his back. He'd been too lost in his thoughts to notice him appear behind him.

"It's not bad," Hiccup said, although just moments before he'd been fantasising about all the other places he'd rather be.

He took a sip of his drink. It was disgusting - vodka, mixed with some kind of sugary drink - but it felt good going down, and the only way he'd survive this was if he was drunk.

Tuffnut looped an arm around Hiccup's shoulders. "What are you doing hiding all the way over here?"

"Avoiding Astrid," he said, jabbing his thumb over to where she was standing in the living room, making conversation with two of her friends.

On cue, Astrid tipped her head back and laughed at a joke. It had to be one of the worst laughs Hiccup had ever heard - more of a cackle, really, like some kind of witch. And her voice,  _Christ,_ Hiccup was sure that he had never heard a voice quite so grating as hers.

Tuffnut followed Hiccup's gaze. "You like her, or something?"

Hiccup's eyes bugged out at the way Tuffnut had misread the situation. "No, I—"

"I get it, she's pretty hot, right?" Tuffnut said.

Hiccup flushed a bright red. "No. I mean, I  _guess_ , but that's not—"

"She's my sister's roommate, man, I could put in a good word for you."

"Absolutely not."

Tuffnut watched him for a second, eyebrows raised. "You should talk to her, instead of just standing creepily in a corner," Tuffnut said, and then raised his voice. "Yo, Astrid!"

"Wait!" Hiccup hissed, grabbing at the arm that Tuffnut was using to beckon Astrid over. "Don't!"

It was too late. Astrid was already walking over.

"This is my friend, Hiccup," Tuffnut said, nudging Hiccup in the arm.

There was nowhere to run. Hiccup briefly considered darting back into the kitchen and throwing himself out of the window.

Astrid was looking between the two of them with that stupid smug grin of hers.

"He thinks you're hot."

Hiccup just about combusted.

With his mouth gaping wide open, and his eyes flitting between the smirks that Astrid and her friends were tossing his way, he did the only thing he could think of, and fled.

* * *

A few days later, after he'd relayed the story in full, Fishlegs and Snotlout roared with laughter.

It was funny enough for Snotlout to look up from his phone, wiping tears from his eyes. He grasped Hiccup's shoulder to keep himself steady as he clutched his stomach. "See, this is why you need to go to parties more often," he said. "Tuffnut is such a legend…"

Hiccup scowled. "It's not funny."

"It's pretty funny, man."

"It's  _not_ ," Hiccup insisted. "I don't know why she has to show up everywhere I am. It's like she's stalking me."

Fishlegs snorted, looking Hiccup up at down with a knowing smile. "I think you like that she messes with you. I think you're  _hoping_ to see her outside of work."

"Bullshit," he said, through clenched teeth. "You've cracked."

"If you say so."

"I can't stand her, how is that difficult to understand?"

Fishlegs rocked back and forth on his feet. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

Hiccup felt the frustration hot on his cheeks. "I don't have to listen to this," he said, storming out towards the kitchen door.

"It's from Hamlet!" Fishlegs called after him. "How are you going to beat Astrid in class if you don't know that?"

Hiccup slammed the door behind him, ignoring the sound of their laughter.

The day didn't get any better, and Hiccup's mood soured even more still when Astrid strolled up to the counter at Bean & Gone on his later shift.

"Good evening," she sang, cheerfully.

"Is it?" Hiccup said, gruffly.

The last thing he needed was Astrid Hofferson in a good mood. Not that Astrid Hofferson in a bad mood was any better. In fact, Hiccup didn't want Astrid Hofferson in any mood anywhere near him.

"Well?" Hiccup said. "What do you want?"

She did her standard thinking routine, rocking back and forward on her feet, staring up at the menu board while she stroked her chin. "What would you recommend?"

"A healthy dose of cyanide," Hiccup said, deadpan.

"Are death threats a part of the customer service handbook?"

"It's just part of my natural charm," Hiccup said. "Are you going to order?"

There was a long pause, while Astrid just looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "A venti coffee with ten Splenda packets and whipped cream."

"Ten?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No," Hiccup said. "I just fear for your doctor."

He made the drink. "Four pounds, please."

"What, I don't get a discount?"

Hiccup frowned. "Why would I give you a discount?"

A grin spread across Astrid's face, two dimples pinching her cheeks, as she leaned across the table, her fist propping her chin up, "because you think I'm hot."

Hiccup's face turned crimson, and he slammed the drink down onto the counter, liquid sloshing out of it, onto the table top. Another mess that he'd have to clean up.

"I hope you get diabetes and die," he spat viciously.

Astrid grinned. "This is why I come here," she said. "The service is just  _wonderful_."

She turned on her heel and swept out of the shop, leaving Hiccup to fume.

She was the last customer of the day, and as soon as the door had swung behind her, Hiccup tore off his apron, marching out from behind the counter, into the coffee shop itself.

"I swear to God, one day I'm going to slip arsenic into her drink," Hiccup hissed, slamming his apron down onto one of the tables. "If she comes in here one more time, I'm not going to be responsible for my actions."

He stopped in his tracks after not getting a response from either Fishlegs or Snotlout and scanned the room to find the two of them kneeling on one of the tables in the corner, their noses pressed flat against the window, looking out into the street opposite. Hiccup raised his eyebrows, but he'd seen weirder things from the two of them, and he was still irritated that he hadn't got a reaction out of either of them.

"I mean it," he tried again, folding his arms, "I've had it with her."

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," Fishlegs said, finally turning around to acknowledge him. "Get up here, you need to see this."

Hiccup pouted, but obliged, climbing up onto the table into the space between the two boys.

"Where would you get arsenic from, anyway?" Fishlegs said.

"I don't know," Hiccup grumbled, still pouting. "The deep web."

"Both of you, shut up and look," Snotlout said, jabbing Hiccup in the ribs with his elbow.

Hiccup looked. There was a big van out on the street, in front of the store opposite. The shop had been vacant for the whole time the three of them had been working there, boarded up and used mostly as an illegal advertising space for whatever dingy, underground gig was happening in their university town next.

But now, when Hiccup squinted, the low-light making it difficult for him to see, he could just about make out that the boards had been wrenched off and the posters pulled away. There were two men pulling something out of the van and into the shop, but he couldn't make out what it was.

"Someone's moving in next door?" Hiccup asked.

Snotlout scowled. " _Yeah_ , no shit."

Hiccup ignored him. "What do you think it's going to be?"

"No idea," Fishlegs said. "It's hard to tell. They only just started moving in."

Over the next few days, the employees of Bean & Gone watched as, gradually, the vacant shop next door came to life.

It wasn't until a week later that the penny dropped. Fishlegs and Hiccup came in early for their morning shift, dead tired and fighting off yawns as they began their day. In fact, they were so busy trying to keep themselves awake as they switched on appliances and made the shop ready for business, that it wasn't until thirty minutes into their shift that they noticed the sign above the vacant shop had been painted.

_Al's Espressos_ , it read, in gold fancy lettering.

It was a rival coffee shop.


End file.
